


Poker Night

by iimpavid



Series: unfinished duet [10]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Communication, Compulsive lying, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Gambling, M/M, Other, Peter Nureyev's Backstory, Polyamory, Post-Episode: s01e16-17 Peter Nureyev and the Angel of Brahma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23824588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid
Summary: Rangian Street Poker had levels of nuance that boggled the mind but Peter had decided Juno needed to learn to play it anyway.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel/Original Character(s)
Series: unfinished duet [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564903
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Poker Night

Rangian Street Poker had levels of nuance that boggled the mind but Peter had decided Juno needed to learn to play it anyway. They used the living room floor for want of an appropriately-expansive table. Peter sat on the green velvet cushion Hieron had bought him and Juno, being a lady much more secure in himself, stole one from the sofa to sit opposite him. The cyberhounds sat with them, well-behaved as ever. Every so often they would be compelled to stop the game to scratch the hounds’ ears or massage their flank plating. They were good boys and deserved to be reminded of it at all times. Peter leaned back into Rothko’s hulking chassis between hands, at ease. 

Juno, meanwhile, was pretty sure he had an imperial flush. The slender, gilt cards’ progression from farmer to emperor made that pretty clear. His impending victory didn’t show in his face but he’d stopped fidgeting and begun to scrutinize Peter more closely.

He was also pretty sure Peter wasn’t being entirely authentic with him. His teaching cadence was a little too formal for the game or the conversation-- which focused so far on nothing more threatening than their controversial stream opinions. His gestures were too restrained. It left Juno wondering who, exactly, was teaching him to play. They hadn’t done any real betting, had agreed to keep the stakes low, and the last months had been smooth sailing between the two of them and Hieron, too-- and yet here Peter was, settled behind someone else’s face.

So Juno gathered his cards together and set them face down in front of himself to ask, “Do you even realize you’re doing this right now?” 

Peter had no tells; those he affected were put in place over the course of decades of careful practice and dire consequences for failure. There was no reading what went through his head (Juno was glad to lack that particular talent) via the mild, curious expression on his face. But he said, “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Juno,” a calculated evasion which told Juno he knew exactly what was going on and what he was doing.

He gestured to Peter, head to floor, “The acting-- I was kinda hoping we were past that.” 

It was certainly something to watch Peter make the decision to break character: he sat a little straighter, his breathing changed, tension crept into his hands, his eyes grew darker. 

“So you _do_ know you’re doing it,” Juno concluded. 

“Sometimes.” Peter adjusted his glasses. It was an intense relief, seeing a bit of real body language, genuine discomfort.

“So, why now? What’d I do?” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” he frowned, “Nothing at all, Juno. Sometimes it’s just… easier. It’s the difference in going into a heist with blueprints rather than without. Even if they’re outdated they’re better than wandering in blind. _Everyone_ does it. You can’t tell me you’re the same person when you’re briefing for a job as you are when you let Mrs. Otis flirt with you when you go to the big island to pick up milk.”

“Yeah, except me-at-work doesn’t have a different name, fingerprints, backstory, and accent than me-at-home.” A measure of stubborn silence sat between them, then he added, “Don’t be all... _defensive_ , okay, I’m not _mad_ about it. I just want to understand.” 

“You _sound_ mad.” Peter’s tone bordered on petulant but the cast of his eyes and the tension in his jaw clarified some of his insecurity.

Juno resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was goddamn exhausting to pour over the tiniest details to get a read on Peter but this was Peter trying. He knew first hand how much Peter preferred to shut down and disengage from his feelings completely-- and now much more infuriating _that_ was. “Well, you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that I’m not. It’d help if you’d be more straightforward answering the damn question, though.” 

“... You have a point there, I’ll admit it.” 

Peter stacked his hand of cards neatly beside his knee and took a moment to prod Rothko a bit. The hound had decided that the velvet floor cushion should be his. Their competition for it progressed at a constant but glacial pace. The robot gave a dissatisfied huff but moved out of the way.

Then, apropos of nothing, Peter dug right into the meat of the matter: “Mag took me on the last day of first grade. My brother and I had just finished a show-and-tell project about lock construction-- and picking. Our father was an engineer. He thought it would be funny to let us learn; our mother, not so much.” 

Experience kept Juno from gaping but all he could manage to say was a skeptical, “You have a brother?” 

“My mother came from money; she could afford twins. A house on New Kinshasa’s stratospheric level with a yard, private school, tutors. We… we wanted for nothing.” 

“What was his name?” 

“Prince.” 

“Prince Nureyev?” 

“No. Just Prince. An auspicious Old Earth name, apparently. I don’t remember our surname. Peter Nureyev, Sr. never existed or if he did I never met him and neither did Mag. There are no records of the name on Brahma-- except for me, of course. I’m considered a _low-threat political dissident and potential terrorist_ in most government databases.” 

“Only you could sound so disappointed about not being higher on a government watchlist.” 

His answering grin was self-deprecating, “Yes, it does take a certain kind of person, doesn’t it?” 

Juno snorted. “It really does.” Then, “Is any of this true?”

Better to be blunt. By way of a shocking amount of self-awareness, Peter was forgiving about being mistrusted ever since they’d settled into life on Nauri. It was one of the few things that made the whole arrangement of their household sustainable.

“I would make you play your hand to guarantee it but yours isn’t higher than mine.” 

“I have an imperial flush!” 

“No, you don’t.” Peter reached to one of the piles between them and pulled one from a few places down in the deck and showed it to Juno: “You’re missing the 5 of Turtle Drums which herald the ascension of the Draconic Emperor.” 

“How did you--” 

“I’ve been counting cards.”

Juno stared. He’d tried the same and lost track quickly with the dozen suits and many more houses involved in Rangian Street Poker.

Before either of them could be more distracted by Peter’s prodigious working memory Peter continued, “You don’t have to believe me on the details, Juno. I know how good I am at manufacturing them.” He said this with equal parts pride and shame which somehow lent the audacious story of Peter having a brother more credence. “Suffice it to say instead that I learned from a very young age that being someone else entirely, all the time, is the best thing I can do for everyone around me.” 

All at once the too-shiny veneer of the Angel of Brahma myth Peter had spun in his own mind-- for himself and for Juno, too-- grew transparent as pieces slipped into place. Unbidden, Juno found himself saying: “ _That’s_ why it was so easy for you to kill Mag.” 

Peter flinched like he’d been hit. “I’d rather you not say it like that, Juno. It’s not a prize.” 

“But it’s true.” He couldn’t help it; the high of solving a puzzle he’d been turning over for years was too pure. “It’s not easy to kill somebody-- not even for good reasons-- and most kids don’t just kill people either no matter what their rap sheet--” 

“ _Please_ , Juno.” Peter cut him off, sharp and final, “I will never know who I was before Mag. I would prefer that I’d stayed in denial about that but I couldn’t, and so here I am, twenty-five years later, living with the consequences.” 

The silence spread out between them, fraught and roiling, but they sat with it, palpably uncomfortable to the point that the hounds took notice, Rothko coming to lean hard against Peter’s back and Duchamp against Juno’s. The robots were gigantic and the force required to not be pushed over was a good distraction. It broke the tension, made them both breathe again.

“You get to decide who you are, though, you know.” 

“Yes, I’m aware. What do you think it is that I’m doing right now?” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, _oh_.” 

“So the acting, it’s just you figuring yourself out, not hiding things?” 

“Well, not _all_ the time; it’s an old habit, one I’m trying to scale back, but I’m libel to make mistakes.” 

“Ah,” Juno nodded, understanding, “I’m gonna keep asking, then, when you do it.” 

“I’m allowed to have my secrets, Juno.” 

“Yeah, I know. So don’t tell me the truth if you don’t want to. But you won’t come out and say it when I do piss you off or something, so I have to keep asking. I’m not a mindreader, Peter.” 

“I just finished telling you that I’m not upset with you.” 

“ _This time_ , yeah, I got that.” 

“Alright, as long as that’s clear.” He sighed, “I’ll try to be more … upfront if I know something’s actually bothering me. Be patient with me, Juno, often I don’t realize it.” 

“I’ll just keep making you talk about your feelings; you’ll catch on eventually.” 

Peter scoffed, “Between you and Hieron I don’t know what I’m going to do-- you two will kill me with all this talking.” 

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” 

“You’re one to talk, madame.” He picked up his neglected hand of cards once more, fanning them elegantly in his palm. “Now, are you going to call or draw? I want to know your most infuriating opinion about Casa Kanagawa and the night isn’t getting any younger.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is Peter telling the truth? Who even knows at this point. I sure don't.


End file.
